


To Forget Is Genius

by April_Valentine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e18 All In, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:45:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An episode tag for season 2, episode 18: "All In" -- Reese has something more to say to Finch about his feelings for Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Forget Is Genius

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a million to my dear beta and friend, Esteefee. Yes, Harold is who he is.

_“To forgive is wisdom, to forget is genius.”  
― Joyce Cary_

Harold stared at the photo for a moment, then sighed and clicked it off. He knew he shouldn't do this to himself. He resolved to settle down to work, but his heart was too empty. He clicked the photo again, knowing he was being masochistic. But what did it matter? He felt he deserved the emotional pain, considering what he'd put Grace through. And usually he was successful at preventing his thoughts from going down that road. These days, at least, there were other, oftentimes even more painful paths for his emotions to lead him down. One in particular, now that he thought about it, ran nearly parallel to the knowledge that he couldn't have Grace. There was another, closer than she was, in his life, and he couldn't have him, either.

He should be used to this feeling of being alone, apart. He lived that way every day, working in secret, hidden, existing only in the ether. He could hardly remember a time when he hadn't, when someone had known him, known who he was. Always shy and circumspect, given to paranoia and secrecy for most of his youth, being alone had been as natural as breathing, coding. Yet apparently, no man could remain an island forever. On so few occasions he needed only the fingers of one hand to count them, he had broken his self-imposed isolation and achieved a tentative connection with another person. Still, he had always held most of himself back, unable to be completely free of the chains that bound his solitary soul. 

But he did admit it was a lonely way to live. Just because he willingly chose a path didn't prevent him from realizing the consequences. As with   
anything, though, it was something that he'd gotten used to, especially when the alternative was even more terrifying. His loneliness had eased a bit in recent months. He and Mr. Reese had fallen into a mostly easy pattern, and Harold admitted that often, he actually felt comfortable in Reese's presence.

It was the most recent number, though, that had brought memories of Grace back, made the regrets tease at his resolve, his thoughts tempt him with what ifs and why nots. His conversations with Lou, in particular Lou's insistence to Harold that he should go to Grace, had shaken Harold's usual certainty. Harold was left feeling like the bandage he carefully kept over the place he'd put his feelings for Grace had been ripped away, leaving the wound naked and oozing blood. But as with any wound, no matter how much he wished it had never happened, he knew its mark would be on him forever.

Harold was so deeply involved with his thoughts he didn't hear the footsteps in time. Reese came striding back into the room, his steps heavy and swift, unlike the often nearly silent, cat-like footfalls he used when approaching a subject with stealth. Startled by the realization Reese was nearly close enough to see his screen, Harold lifted his hand to close the picture of Grace. 

He was too late. A deadly hand snaked out, catching his wrist, its iron grip preventing all movement. Harold could do nothing but look up into Reese's eyes, and the look in them was nearly as ominous as the grip of Reese's hand. Harold attempted to respond with an icy glare, but he knew the most affronted expression he could pull off wouldn't faze Reese, any more than he had the physical strength necessary to free his hand before Reese was ready to let it go.

"Do you mind?" he asked, hoping his voice might be more effective.

"Yes," Reese said, his voice a rasp of barely controlled impatience. "I mind a lot. A moment ago, I was going to say something more. I was going to tell you I understand. I was going to tell you you're not as alone as you think." His eyes were laser bright, penetrating Harold's defenses. "I was going to offer to help. But I held back, the way I always do, figuring if I said too much or the wrong thing, I'd go too far, cross some boundary or break some rule and you wouldn't get over it."

Before Reese could continue, Harold interrupted. "I assure you Mr. Reese, I've 'gotten over' many things in my lifetime. But I don't require help. I can't imagine there's anything that could help." Though he'd started off with as haughty and insulted a tone as he could manage, Harold realized his last words were far more plaintive than he wished. If he were capable of getting up from his chair and storming away, he would have. Their earlier exchange had been difficult enough; the thought of Reese pitying him had been humiliating. Harold was never sure how others would perceive a display of emotion on his part, so he usually attempted to hide or deny his feelings. Faced with Reese's recognition of his pain in regard to Grace, Harold had resorted to his usual deflection and denial. It wasn't that what he'd told Reese wasn't the truth, but he had hoped to convey with his tight control of his words and expression that closer examination was both unnecessary and unwelcome. 

Harold glanced at his wrist, still imprisoned in Reese's unyielding grip. He raised his eyes to Reese's, planning to face the unexpected anger down. But what he found in Reese's gaze now was not anger.

"Really, Harold?" Reese asked, his voice a rough blend of compassion and disbelief. "Do you place so little faith in my skills?"

Before Harold could grasp Reese's meaning or intentions, his grip changed, going from punishing to patient, and Reese lifted Harold's hand to rub his cheek against it. He turned Harold's hand over and pressed his lips into his open palm. 

"I can help. If you let me."

Harold wanted to protest, to push Reese away with an unequivocal denial, but he was unable to speak, to move.

"You've got so many barriers, Harold. I'm not asking to tear them all down. I just want to push some of them aside, just far enough for me to slip in and get close." He kissed Harold's wrist, earnest and determined and... so damned sensual that Harold's head started spinning.

"Ohhh..." Harold gasped. He stood, getting closer without meaning to and Reese seized the opportunity to pull Harold into his arms. 

"I'm here, Harold," Reese whispered and Harold could hear in the words the echo of Reese holding back earlier. "I'm with you. I can help. I can help you not think of her." Reese's lips trailed down Harold's cheek. "If you'll just let me."

Reese's voice was calming, compassionate, caressing. And something more; he was nearly begging Harold.

"John..." Harold gasped, his heart pounding with conflict. He was so alone, so vulnerable at this moment, and Reese was so strong, so compelling. Still grasping Harold's wrist, Reese wrapped his other arm around Harold's waist and pulled him close, pressing his body against him. His eyes looked deep into Harold's for a moment more, then Reese bent his head and took his mouth in a kiss.

Reese's lips, contemplated in lonely moments in the dark of night but never expected to be known, were even more wonderful than Harold had imagined. Soft, firm, warm and moist, they pressed with gentle urgency, and he couldn't help but respond. He was so used to being alone, to accepting his fate, to putting the numbers and everything else ahead of his own needs... but Reese was the one human being who gave everything he was to Harold. The man's devotion was something Harold had feared to think about.

That devotion was presented to him now in the deep, searching kisses Reese was giving him, in the tight hold of his arm about Harold’s waist and the surge of his body against Harold’s trembling one. He gasped, opening his lips to Reese's searching tongue, his heart pounding as he realized that thinking wasn't something he was going to be doing at this moment. Thinking might actually be overrated. 

"That's it, Harold," John said breathlessly, "let me in." 

He did, sucking at Reese's slick tongue, the hunger of years of denial unlocking the barriers he had told himself he needed so badly to keep himself safe and sane. He wrapped his free arm around Reese's shoulders, his fingers sinking into the soft, thick hair at the back of his head. At the touch, Reese shuddered and Harold felt the hard evidence of Reese's arousal press against his thigh. Without thinking, he nudged against it, eliciting a groan from Reese and an answering motion as he rubbed himself against Harold. 

He pulled Harold closer and stepped away from his place at the computer, moving them to the side of the worktable without breaking their kiss. Harold wondered what Reese's intention was, but for once, he let himself go with the flow, willingly swept away by Reese's ardor, allowing him to take control. It had been so long since a big, strong man had held him... even though Harold had eventually turned to Grace, Nathan was the first person he had ever truly loved and the few times he and Nathan had indulged in sex were Harold's most treasured and secret memories. Nathan had taken the initiative in their encounters, and Harold, naturally shy and self doubting in his youth, had been the follower, and the prospect of a taller, more powerful individual making love to him was more of a turn on than he had expected. So when Reese pushed him back against the table and proceeded to stroke his left hand down Harold's chest, his right still tightly gripping his wrist, Harold leaned back and let Reese do what he wanted.

What he wanted was apparently to undo all Harold's buttons while still kissing him ravenously. Harold had to admire the man's ambidexterity as he quickly and efficiently worked open his waistcoat and then his shirt buttons, pausing only to loosen his tie while he nuzzled wet kisses along the side of his neck. When he'd gotten Harold's vest and shirt open, Reese's left hand stole under his t-shirt, tugging at the fabric until he rucked it upward, his searching fingers teasing at Harold's nipples. Harold shivered, realizing they'd been hard already, that Reese would know how excited he was even before those deft fingers had found and started pinching at them, yet his lack of embarrassment was a pleasant surprise to him. He found he wanted Reese to know how moved he was already by his attentions. 

"Harold," Reese whispered into his ear, his voice rich with pleasure. His tongue slid into the whorl of Harold's ear, then his teeth closed gently on his lobe, nipping gently, sucking lightly. Harold arched his back into Reese's mouth and the hand on his chest, rewarded when Reese's mouth returned to his lips for another deep and hungry kiss.

Reese began tugging Harold's shirttails the rest of the way out of his pants and, delirious, all Harold could do was hang onto his shoulder, his left hand still imprisoned in Reese's grip. He wanted to touch, to show Reese how wonderful he was making him feel, but all he could do was revel in the sensation of Reese manhandling him.

When his shirt was free of his pants, Reese pushed him back against the table, stopping his kisses to look down at him. Harold knew he must be a sight, disheveled, panting, and if Reese's lips were anything to go by, his own mouth was most likely swollen and red too. Reese's gaze traveled downward and Harold's face grew hot at the knowledge that his pants were tented by his erection. Reese's lips curved into his trademark smirk at the evidence of the effect he was having on Harold, his eyes twinkling.

Emboldened, Harold finally spoke. "You're not going to just look, are you, Mr. Reese?"

Reese's smirk became a full-blown smile. "Oh, I'll touch, Harold." His eyes sank closed and he took a deep breath. "I'll touch." 

He cupped Harold's erection then, feeling him through the wool of his trousers, squeezing lightly, his smile broadening when he felt Harold 's cock twitch in response. He wrapped his arm around Harold 's waist and hoisted him up so that he was seated on the table, then leaned in for another kiss as he deftly unbuckled his belt and unsnapped the top of his pants. Harold leaned back to give him access and ignored the wires and drives nudging against his hands as he let Reese unzip him; there would be time to worry about fallen monitors later. 

Reese's hand delved into Harold 's open pants, gathering his leaking cock and bringing it out to stroke. Those skilled fingers felt so good Harold was torn between closing his eyes to concentrate on the sensation and keeping them open to marvel at the sight of John Reese handling him. Then Reese pulled up slowly along his length, tightening his grip and swirling his thumb over Harold's swollen head, and his eyes closed in pleasure. 

A strange sound had him opening them again. Reese had hooked his foot around the leg of Harold's wheeled work chair and was dragging it over while still stroking him. Once it was in position, Reese sat down, the chair allowing him the perfect position to lean forward and take Harold 's cock in his mouth. 

“Uhhh… “ The involuntary cry slipped out, part surprise, part delight at John’s ingenuity.

John’s lips surrounded the crown briefly, then he slid off and looked up into Harold's eyes. Neither man spoke while the look held. Harold tugged on his wrist and John finally released it, allowing Harold to stroke back the hair that had fallen over John's forehead. John turned into the touch, his eyes looking smoky and heavy lidded. Harold continued the caress, his fingers sliding over a sharp cheekbone that too often had been bruised on Harold 's behalf, and down toward the kiss moistened lips. Harold drew one finger over John's mouth, biting his own lower lip when John sucked the digit in and tongued it wet. 

"John... " Harold gasped, not sure if he were begging or demanding. 

It didn't seem to matter. John leaned forward, using both hands to spread Harold’s legs farther apart, and dove in, sucking him deep. He massaged Harold 's thighs through his pants, then slid his hands up and inward where he fondled Harold 's balls as he sucked. Harold thought he might pass out. Or die. He would have dropped his head back and swooned if the pins in his neck would let him; failing that, he leaned forward, caressing John's cheeks, running his fingers through his hair as he encouraged his sucking. When John bent even lower over him, Harold 's fingers found the sweet duck tail at the back of his neck, tracing his fingers over it again and again while sharp pangs of pleasure shot from his gut through his legs, pooled in his balls and made his straining shaft surge. John's hunger seemed boundless, his throat taking Harold deep, raw sounds escaping him as he wantonly sucked.

It was good, so good. Unexpectedly good, Harold realized. It had been such a long time for him, and the one thing he'd never expected at the end of this mission was that they would be here, in the library, him seated precariously amongst his computers, unbuttoned and unzipped, his tie loosened and askew, with John fully dressed and seated in front of him, sucking him off. But he couldn't come up with a better outcome.

John's tongue traced the underside of his cock, lips nipping at the ridge, then he sloppily slurped at his head, taking him in once more as his fingers rolled Harold 's balls. Harold groaned, fingers tightening on John's skull as his hips lifted as much as they could from the surface of the desk. 

"John -- " he grated out.

"That's it," Reese managed. "Come on, Harold. Come on... " He pressed hot fingers up behind Harold 's balls as he sucked his cock deep once more and Harold couldn't help his wavering cry as he came and came and came down John's throat.

John swallowed all Harold had to give, then continued to mouth his spent shaft until just before the sensation became too much for him. John drew off and rubbed his cheek languidly against Harold 's wool covered thigh, his breath uneven, his eyes closed. Harold balanced unsteadily on one hand while he brought the other up to caress John's cheek. 

Harold didn't know what to say. If he should say anything. John was quiet too. As his afterglow receded, Harold realized Reese had given everything to him and he hadn't reciprocated. He felt he should do something, that he shouldn't be selfish, but he didn't know where to start, how to communicate, or even if John wanted... 

Harold swallowed hard, his insecurities coming back full force, but thinking it was up to him to speak first. He squeezed John 's shoulder, about to try, when John abruptly stood. He rubbed a hand across his mouth and began straightening Harold's clothes for him, his fingers starting to button Harold 's shirt, all without meeting his eyes. 

"John," Harold said, disconcerted, "I can do that..." 

"Right." Reese stepped away, his eyes still downcast. He moved toward the monitor and glanced at the screen, then clicked the mouse. For a moment, Harold didn't understand what he was doing. Closing a window?

Oh. 

Well. Reese had been right. He'd made Harold forget. For quite awhile. 

Reese hadn't moved from his place before the monitor. He hadn't looked up. His face was blank, the way it looked sometimes when Harold had observed him before a confrontation, detached. 

Did what he'd done mean nothing to him, Harold wondered. Or was he simply feeling as awkward as Harold now, as unsure of what to say?

Harold tugged his waistcoat into place, straightened his tie, mind searching for words, any word. He tucked himself back into his pants. Reese still hadn't moved.

"John?" 

"Yes, Harold?" Reese still didn't meet his eyes.

"You were right." When Reese didn't answer, Harold continued. "You helped me. I know I'm... not alone. Not anymore." 

Reese nodded, but Harold could see he still seemed tense.

"You... you were so... good to me. Can I -- may I...?" He tried being more specific. “I don’t like leaving things so… unfinished.”

Reese glanced up, eyes diffident and shadowed. 

Harold reached out his hand. "John." He made his tone cajoling. “You’re not alone either.”

Reese took his hand. And Harold pulled him in for a kiss.


End file.
